Don’t Panic!
Little use doing anything but try and take a few positives from that. If we pick at the bones too much we might end up having some kind of panic attack when we line up against Milan on Wednesday. In the same way that someone can encounter a foreboding sense of vertigo when they start to have a bloody good think about their lives and what it all means. A bloody good, weird think. Asking yourself: is any of this actually happening? Did we really get into the Champions League last year? That was the sort of result that makes you wonder. Have we not just been living some bizarre parallel existence for the last few months of which we’re all delightfully unaware? Perhaps while we sit here with our high hopes and newspaper clippings of glory-glory nights at The Lane, we’re actually just still decked out in our Hewlett Packard replica kits, slogging away in mid-table, silently pleading with Gerry Francis to get his creepy mullet cut. I hear it’s how Philip K. Dick felt when he smoked too much opium and wrote about androids. These, as they say, are mysterious times.
Of course it did all happen- so my psychiatrist informs me- we really are playing AC Milan on Wednesday and we really did scrape a just-about–earned point from the Molinuex yesterday. It’s all as legitimate as the keyboard I’m typing on. And so back to my opening gambit: let’s look at some positives. Well first thing’s first, our strikers are making a bit of headway. Jermain Defoe especially; looking for all the world like a man embodied with the ‘spirit’ of Jimmy Greaves. Kicking the ball not once, but twice into- wait for it- the goal. Like one them centre-forwards or something. Super goals they were, too. Super like Super Roman Pavlyuchenko, who thundered one in himself just after restart. All very encouraging.
As too was the return of one Gareth Bale. I’m sure I’m not the only one who felt like an over-protective Daily Mail reading mother on Sunday afternoon; howling at Ronald Zubar to back off every time he got too close or a little too enthusiastic with his brand of rough-housing. Even the slightest of askew looks toward our Welsh Wünderkid was met with a healthy chorus of boos in the WFRF homestead. You touch him and I swear to god…
Thankfully he emerged unscathed.
Hang it all out to dry, though, and there’re certainly reasons to be less cheerful. Gomes looks terribly unconvincing at present- something that won’t have escaped the notice of future opponents; those who’re not too proud to shank a few long balls box-ward when the chance arises. Just to test the uncertain waters. I fear my left ventricle might burst if this is to be the way of it and we’ve still got two months to go. A couple of daft mistakes on Sunday. A more competent ref would’ve made sure they were both punished. And don’t get me started on Alan Hutton.
Well I tried to keep it positive, didn’t I?
Plenty left to play for. Don’t panic. Everything’s going to be fine.
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